


Vindicated

by kirana



Category: Smallville
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-21
Updated: 2005-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirana/pseuds/kirana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trace a moment and fall forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vindicated

        Lex lounged easily in his chair, sipping his first coffee of the morning. Another day of coaxing LexCorp back from the edge was ahead of him, but that was no reason not to enjoy the simple pleasures in life.  
        "Lex, have you seen my shirt?" The harried question had him hiding a smile in his cup. "I coulda sworn I saw it over here last night . . . ."  
        Of course, it was only recently his mornings had been so relaxed. It hadn't been _that_ long ago, chronologically, that the owner of the half-frantic voice had not been a welcome visitor at _any_ time, much less in the morning. But overtures had been made, apologies tendered and accepted, and a tentative friendship rekindled. And had led, much sooner than he had expected, to a deeper relationship.  
        "Have you tried the closet?" he suggested.  
        He heard an exasperated sigh. "Lex, asking someone to check one of _your_ closets is like asking them to find a needle in a haystack."  
        "If I come and find it, I'm afraid I'll have to ask for some," he paused suggestively, "favours in return."  
        A moment of silence. "Lex, will you _please_ help me find my shirt?"  
        He stood smoothly and sauntered though the penthouse to his bedroom. Casually leaning against the door, he smirked at the half-dressed brunet in the middle of the floor. "I don't know, Clark," he said. "What if you don't want to do them?"  
        Dark lashes swept over green eyes and the man's pose loosened into something warmer, more inviting. "You could always beg . . . ."  
        Lex laughed. "You're the one trying to get my help," he reminded Clark.  
        "Hmmm, you're right. Maybe I could beg." Clark took a half-step closer. "Please, Lex, won't you please help me find my shirt? I _promise_ I'll do whatever you want . . . . Please?"  
        His breathing stopped for a moment as heat rose in him, his imagination caught all too easily by the images conjured up by the voice and the words and the person and, God, the memories—  
        "Lex?" Clark's smile had a definite trace of smugness about it.  
        "First hanger on the right." Lex relaxed against the doorjamb again, his own brand of smugness infusing his expression.  
        Clark cast him an exasperated look before heading for the closet, clearly humouring him. "You know, I don't know why I don't just move in with you," the brunet grumbled. "I mean, it's not like you don't have the room or anything. Heck, I could even live in the closet; it's definitely big enough! Lex, why is your closet so big?"  
        "To accommodate my live-in lovers, of course," Lex replied smoothly. A dark head popped out of the closet and wrinkled its nose at him. "Have you found it yet?" he asked, redirecting Clark's attention to his search.  
        "It won't be in here," was Clark's pessimistic prediction. "I was only here overnight, there's no . . . way . . . ." A moment of gratifying silence. "Lex, why is my shirt in your closet?"  
        "Because, unlike a certain _someone_ whose name shall not pass my lips, I'm not in the habit of leaving clothes, capes, or tights all over the place."  
        "Lex!" The other man sounded scandalised. "You don't have to pick up after me!"  
        "I thought you might appreciate fewer wrinkles in your clothes," Lex returned, far too seriously to be completely earnest. "One less clue for your partner to pick up on, although I wasn't able to do anything about the mustard stain." He glanced at the clock. "Time, Clark," he said warningly.  
        The other man glanced at the clock himself and immediately shrugged into his shirt. "Shoot, I didn't think it was so late!" Fingers flying faster than humanly possible buttoned up the shirt in question and reached for the jacket—although Lex wanted badly to deny it that dignity—that finished the suit. A blur of movement and he was being kissed, deeply despite the almost urgent lack of time. "Love you. See you tonight." And then the blur again and a breeze, leaving him alone in the penthouse. He touched his lips and smiled gently before heading back to his coffee and the upcoming day of business-related headaches.  
        Of course, thoughts of Clark plagued him throughout the day. Not that he objected to them, exactly, but it was hard to be a heartless businessman when every second thought was about how Clark had looked that morning, all sleepy and rumpled and hot.  
        He sighed and pushed away the latest proposal. If he had to think about Clark, he could at least be concentrating on Clark's strange behaviour of the past week or so.  
        Clark's comment that morning about moving in, for example. It wasn't the first time he'd said something to that effect and, while it made Lex all hot and tingly inside to think of Clark in his home, every night, for the rest of their lives, he was hesitant to push Clark too fast. Hell, if he'd had his way, they would only just be beginning the slow courtship he had planned so very carefully. They had a second chance; he wasn't inclined to fuck it up.  
        There had also been Clark's strange fixation with sucking his fingers. He had to admit it was intensely hot and very rarely failed to get him exactly where Clark wanted him, but it was added to his List of Strange because he'd seen a certain parallel between Clark's finger-lickin' good actions and a tactic he had tried with one of his innumerable wives, back when he was trying to get her ring size without being obvious about it. It had, of course, backfired spectacularly when wife-to-be number six had discovered a chip in her perfect manicure because of it. He'd had to resort to more traditional means after the resultant tantrum, ie, bribing a family member for her ring size.  
        Regardless, he couldn't shake the connection—hope?—the two were somehow connected.  
        Not to mention the possible connection between the finger-sucking-for-ring-size and Clark's questions a month and a half ago about what sort of jewelry he wore. His answer, was, of course, none by preference. The kryptonite ring had been viewed as a necessary evil and the watch his mother had given him had been, well, a gift. Wedding rings were in another category entirely; if he had to wear one, it was always something discreetly magnificent and definitely unique.  
        All these things, though, pointed to a possibility he was both desperate to believe in and believed he had not yet done enough to deserve. They had only just started building a relationship that worked, no matter how intimate a relationship it was. Moreover, he was still in the middle of cleaning LexCrop up and he could foresee many years of headaches and temptations before he could think he was anything approaching deserving the high regard Clark held for him. Even if Clark had been the one to push their present relationship into its current state, even thinking about what Lex was trying not to suspect was moving far too fast.  
        He reached out and dragged the neglected proposal closer with a sigh. Musings on Clark's strangeness was much less profitable than combing through the day's business options for the one that cold bringing him closer to Clark's ideals. Even if it _was_ more enjoyable to daydream of an improbable future.

***

  
        Lex played with the gold chain absently, concentrating more on the soft skin his fingers brushed against than on the movie they were ostensibly watching. It was a nice accent to the tanned skin it lay against, fine enough to be enveloped in Clark's sun-gifted invulnerability and yet thick enough to assure the eyes it was indeed there and not merely a reflection of impossibly golden skin. It was also long, with something threaded on it, Lex discovered when he tugged on it idly and felt a small something move between them. He lowered his head and mouthed it thoughtfully, humming as Clark shifted under him.  
        He couldn't remember when the chain had appeared. He _did_ remember seeing it on Superman, as it had been that which had alerted him to its proximity-induced invulnerability, but he couldn't for the life of him remember which incidence of death-defying heroism—well, for a human—it was. He supposed he could get out some of his Superman archives and pin it down, if it was really _that_ important. Not that it would tell him why Clark felt it a necessary accessory.  
        "Clark?" He felt more than heard the other man's questioning hum. "What's this?" He tugged gently on the chain, pulling another small section of it out from under Clark's shirt. Which, again, was odd, given the number of times he had stripped the other man and had never noticed the chain's presence or absence. His excuses was quite valid, he thought. Anyone stripping Clark needed every bit of willpower just to keep events from ending too early. And just forget about noticing anything but the unforgettably perfect body as it was bared.  
        "It's—" And Clark hesitated, clearly reluctant to tell.  
        "You don't have to," Lex said quickly, unable to keep from feeling the small sting of disappointment. He was reluctantly aware of the difficulties inherent on the tearing down of boundaries, but that didn't mean he had to like it.  
        "No," Clark said slowly, "I think it's time." He lifted Lex up as easily as if he'd been a newborn kitten and sat them both upright on the couch. Then he tugged the chain over his head and kept on pulling until its burden was lifted free of his shirt.  
        Lex's breath caught at the sight of two rings spinning gently, small flashes of light revealing facets of the stones they held.  
        "I know maybe you think we're moving too fast and it's not like it's legal—"  
        He couldn't breathe, could only watch as his suspicions, his hopes dangled in front of him, close enough he could reach out and touch them.  
        "—but I've been thinking about this for a long time and I think we're ready for this—"  
        The shine of raw diamonds blinded him, as Clark's smile did so often. The implications of them tried to draw him in, rope him in bindings of love delighted.  
        "—step. But if you want to wait or don't want to at all, it's all right, too. I guess I just wanted—"  
        Redemption offered for his sins, all he had to was reach forward and it could be his and never mind he still wasn't worthy of it.  
        "—a sense of permanence, a physical sign that you belong to me." The dark head ducked down to hide the blush. "I _know_ jealousy's not an attractive trait—"  
        He _would_ be worthy of it, he'd make sure of it. If he had to beggar himself to be good enough, the heat winding itself around his heart told him it would be worth it and more.  
        "—but I guess I'm not perfect after all, although I'm sure you knew that already." Half-smiling eyes invited him to laugh, to join in the small joke. "I know it probably isn't worth much, but Mom always said the best gifts came—"  
        Surprise turned into triumph, changed into happiness, morphed into acceptance. He _had_ been right and, as unworthy as he knew himself to be, he also knew he _would_ be worthy of it one day. And it was somehow not a surprise to think that, to begin to see what Clark must have seen in him to make such an offer  
        "—from the heart. I tried to make better diamonds, you know, clear ones, but I guess hands, no matter how strong they are, just aren't right for making perfect diamonds. But I was thinking of you when I made them and I finally decided they would have to do, so I took them and got them—"  
        He was perilously close to losing himself entirely. It would only take a touch, one simple brush of skin against skin, and he would be lost forever.  
        "—mounted. I'd tried to do it myself, but I kinda made a mess of it—"  
        He reached forward and brushed his fingers against moving lips, instantly stilling them. It was more than worth it to gain this beautiful creature in his life, to know that he would be there forever because he didn't know how to do things less than completely.  
        "Clark . . . . Yes." 


End file.
